


Rogue Order

by ElmiDol



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Reader, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Masturbation, Minor pining, Oral, Vaginal Sex, Winter Setting, modern day AU, short fic, there will be smut by the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElmiDol/pseuds/ElmiDol
Summary: You are a barista in the coffee shop that Armitage Hux goes to every morning. He's polite, however has never cracked a smile. One day, you decide to try to change that by giving him a little treat. Things wind up going much better than planned.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Reader
Comments: 48
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [terry012227](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terry012227/gifts).



> The outline of this fic was written by terry012227, so credit goes to her. She's wonderfully brilliant and sweet. I love you so much, Terry, and I hope you enjoy this!

** Rogue Order **

_{For terry012227}_

_Chapter One_

The town, situated on the outskirts of the city, possessed a charm that lured many visitors away from the hustle and bustle to explore the local shops. It was noticeably quieter there as well, which had served as an incentive to purchase a home within the town despite the subsequently elongated commute that rose as a result. Another factor that was weighed dealt with the distance it created from his family. Armitage Hux had inwardly thrummed with joy at the very prospect. He would have purchased a home nearer to the heart of the town's center, however a brownstone had caught his eye, and that was the end of his search.

Armitage rose from bed at the sound of his alarm, entering the bathroom to shower and groom before he dressed for business. There was a stop to be made before he drove into the city. It was part of his routine, which helped him keep his sanity when stress mounted as work demanded his attention. Armitage drew his watch onto his wrist; unlike some, he was of the crowd that did not find cellphones to be suitable alternatives to the device, and it had been a gift from his birthmother, much to the chagrin of his father. He allowed Brendol to believe that was the sole reason he wore the watch, though truth be told it had more to do with its sentimental value--this was a fact that Armitage would have denied should anyone suggest it.

On the way out the door, Armitage grabbed hold of his coat. He had watched the weather forecast the previous night and checked the one playing as he was heading out the door. Now he was ready to make that first stop.

Winter had gradually rolled in as it was wont to do in the later months of the year. The temperature dropped bit by bit, rose, and at last plummeted. This possessed a tendency to bring in more customers for the coffee shop at which you worked as a barista. You stood behind the counter--white marble top with wooden light wooden bases--and peered through the large window that stretched across an entire side. On its surface was painted the name of the shop, _First Rogue._ Through those letters you could see snow descending from the sky and gathering along the sidewalks and road. Pedestrians in large coats walked by, some ducking into shops. One individual in particular crossed the street, clearly headed in the direction of First Rogue. It was like clockwork, you thought with a growing smile.

His suit and tie were in pristine condition. The man, whose name you knew to be Armitage Hux, was one of your regulars. He held his coat up over his head so that the snow did not gather on his red hair, which was swept back. As he quickened his pace, however, some of the strands dislodged from their previous positions and slid across his face. Armitage did nothing to fix them. He was preoccupied with setting a hand on the surface of the door and pushing it open. Within seconds of his arrival, two more customers entered the building.

“The usual, if you will,” Armitage said after approaching the counter. Your fingers ran along the keys of the register. 

On his initial visit to First Rogue, Armitage had left you with the impression that you had done something wrong. He had not smiled though he had remained polite. This, you soon learned, was his normal disposition. The tip that he had left had altered your soured mood after his departure. Now you looked forward to seeing him, albeit not because of the tips. He was a handsome man with blue-green eyes that you could drown in. His face had sharp features, although there was a softness to him as well. Armitage was, to put it simply, handsome. This was something you had taken notice of--how could you not?--and it struck you from time to time that he was also not the kind of man who would ever give you the time of day. Not because he was rude, he wasn’t. That just was not what fate had in the cards for you.

“Of course,” you said, sneaking a peek up at his face. He was not presently looking your way. Instead Armitage was reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet. He had the price memorized, which was no surprise. He had only ever ordered one drink in all his trips to First Rogue--a black coffee with a double shot of espresso.

Armitage drew the correct amount of bills from his wallet that would cover the charge of the coffee as well as the tip; one thing that his father had inadvertently taught him was that many people felt unseen for what they did in life. The mundane tasks, the bare minimum as some would put it. To have a smile on your face whenever you addressed a customer, to Armitage, was astonishing. Even on the occasions where sadness toyed at the edges of your expression, you did what you could to ensure the customer left with the correct order and in a pleasant mood. That was not something he was going to take for granted. Efficiency with a smile was what he preached at work, and to meet it in place like First Rogue never failed to be a highlight of his morning.

While you moved to tend to his order, the other barista on duty began to take care of the customers that had come in after him. Armitage slipped the money into the tip jar then checked his watch to ensure that he remained on time so that any potential traffic jam did not ruin his morning. Next he eyed the decorations that had been put up in the shop for the coming holidays. There were novelty items for purchase and new flavors of coffee for people to try. Checking his watch again, Armitage walked towards the counter for order pickup. He arrived just as you said his name, spoken softly due to your attentiveness--you had known he would be there, another fact that he approved of.

Armitage took his drink, gave a nod of farewell, and walked for the door. He did not spare a single glance over his shoulder--had he done so, he may have witnessed the coy smile that played on your lips--and exited the building to face the snow. Since his hair had already fallen out of place, he decided that he did not mind allowing the frosty flakes to gather on the top of his head. He would touch up when he arrived at the office before exiting his car.

He crossed the street then walked down the block to where his car was waiting. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he sighed and raised the coffee to his lips. The steam caressed him, warming them. It was a welcomed heat given the frigid morning air. Still, there was no time to waste. Armitage blew to further cool the liquid near the top of the cup then took his first drink. He almost gagged, nearly spit. His lips pursed forward, his nose scrunching. Thankfully he caught himself, lest his pants would have been sullied by the liquid. What was that _spice_? Swallowing, Armitage waited for the aftertaste to hit. He then blinked, eyebrows furrowed. Peppermint.

His nostrils flared as heat seeped into his body, reddening his cheeks. Frustration and anger bubbled within up, rising to the surface. Armitage swore. What was perhaps the most irritating part of this was that there was no time for him to return to the coffee shop to remedy the situation. He shoved the drink into the cupholder, thrust his keys into the ignition, and turned on the car. His morning was ruined, yet he could not allow that to interfere with his job. There was an important meeting taking place forty-five minutes after he was set to arrive. Armitage planned to utilize that time to ensure all preparations were properly in place.

One question that First Rogue employees asked their customers was if they had any food allergies or if anyone they would be in contact with did. This was in part due to the nuts that were in some of the baked goods; the coffee shop owner wanted nothing more than to ensure that the customers did not unwittingly bring an allergen to a loved one. An unfortunate, although nonfatal, incident two years back had prompted the inquiries to proceed. Because of this, you had been aware that Armitage Hux was not allergic to peppermint. You would not have been so careless as to hand him not only the wrong drink, but something that could potentially kill him; not in his assessment of you, at least.

With a huff, because he was thirsty, Armitage reluctantly reached down for the cup and again raised it to his mouth. This sip was smaller, allowing the flavor to slowly slide across his tongue. It was not _bad_ , he had to admit. It was not, however, what he had ordered. Armitage returned the drink to the cupholder with a heavy sigh. His morning may not have been completely ruined as he had originally believed; it was simply different, and he did not know how to feel about that.

The following morning when Armitage Hux entered First Rogue, you noticed immediately that his expression was different from the normal frown he wore. He was not smiling. On the contrary, there was a guardedness to his expression that made you wonder if something was wrong--was there an illness in the family (he did not have a spouse as far as you knew; he wore no ring on his finger) or had a business deal gone bad?

“Is everything all right?” you inquired when he approached the counter without stating that he would like his usual order. His eyebrows had knitted towards one another as though in consternation; it gave the impression that he wanted to say something yet did not quite know how to phrase things. Your stomach churned. You had an inkling as to what that _something_ might be.

Armitage cleared his throat, turned to check over his shoulder to see if anyone else had entered the coffee shop or was within its walls besides you and him--your coworker would arrive in a half hour, although he would not necessarily know this--and upon discovering that the pair of you were alone, he spoke at last. “Yesterday morning when I ordered my usual--the only drink I have ever purchased here--you mistakenly gave me the wrong drink.”

You felt your shoulders slump, and heaviness in your chest. There was not exactly a threat of tears, however you were grateful that there was no audience for this conversation. “You said you did not have any allergies.” A pause so that you were able to gauge his reaction. He blinked a single time. You wet your lips with a quick flick of your tongue then pushed on. “I was hoping that maybe something sweet would brighten your day.”

Those plush lips parted a fraction, albeit not enough to reveal his teeth, and Armitage released a noise that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a strangle _oh_ of surprise. His eyebrows, expressive as ever, drew upwards. At last he did utter that “Oh” aloud.

“You didn’t like it? I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I did…” His voice trailed off, and you held your breath as you observed the beginnings of a smile that was never allowed to see the light of day. Your heart thumped in your chest at the anticipation, the disappointment. As your pulse began to steady, Armitage continued with his reply. “I had to take a few sips to appreciate the flavor.” That was understandable. Now that you thought of it, being denied a flavor that one was looking forward to could wreck one’s entire day. “I suppose I should allow myself a little more flexibility.”

It was an interesting phrasing in your opinion. You had been aware that Armitage Hux had a routine of some sort, however you had not considered just how strict it might be, where the end result was that _spontaneity_ would exist in the form of a new coffee flavor.

Armitage, as he addressed you, took note of the flicker of surprise that crossed your features at his words. This was not uncommon, as many of his business associates had commented on his rigid routine--though this he found to be irksome, as he frequently was made to adjust and adapt to delays or other sudden alterations in his schedule or business endeavors due to any number of factors. With you, however, there was something soft in the way you were handling his response. Your intention in giving him the peppermint coffee had been to brighten his day, and he could not spot any ulterior motivations for you wanting to do so; he already left, he knew, generous tips.

“Was there a particular reason you selected peppermint?” He worked to keep his tone level, when in truth that was a question that had been circling in his mind since noon the previous day, shortly after the meeting had ended and he had been left free with his thoughts.

“It’s one that receives the most recommendations from customers. I have another regular that enjoys hazelnut. Then one who prefers french vanilla topped with cinnamon. The iced drinks have a large variety as well, although they’re not selling quite as much now because of the snow.”

There was no failure on your part to note that Armitage Hux listened to what you were saying; he had not inquired about the flavor simply out of boredom or frustration. The genuine interest in the background of your motivation for the drink caused your heart to stutter in your chest and your stomach to give a sort of swoop that had you looking towards the large window into the street. Plenty of pedestrians crossed from one side the other, yet no passersby decided to take that moment to delve into the coffee shop. On this particular day of the week, it was not unusual for an hour’s delay before the morning crowd trickled in for their beverages. It would be your luck, however, for one of the regular customers to come in early and thus end this--whatever it was--experience with Armitage.

“The iced peppermint mocha is topped with candy cane pieces if it’s requested. The hot chocolate as well--do you like hot chocolate?” You might have been succumbing to a bout of verbal diarrhea, or else you were gaining confidence as you regathered your bearings. The heat pulsed through your body. It was a delightful mixture of endorphins, embarrassment, and serotonin. The morning was going rather well, you would have said if anyone had bothered to ask.

Armitage tilted his head partway to the side. His lips pinched as he considered the question, which for most would have been supplied with a readied response of _yes_ or _no_. It had been many years since last he had tried hot chocolate. There were a multitude of flavors, the same as with coffee, and he supposed that _instant_ hot chocolate would taste different than when one melted the chocolate and added in other flavors--for this latter, he knew that First Rogue prided itself on the fresh ingredients.

“I prefer coffee.” He observed your face as he delivered his reply. Saw how your lips twitched in the corners, your eyes creasing a little as your smile won out. Clearing his throat, Armitage lifted his arm to check the time on his watch. He was not running late, although that did not mean he could linger for very much longer; it did not matter that he was finding himself enjoying the conversation, there was business to be conducted. “I would prefer the usual for today. You may resume more...experimental blends starting tomorrow, if you have the urge to do so.”

The words held no traces of bitterness nor any indication that he was being disingenuous. Your eyebrows rose while nodded. Hands busy with the register, you observed him through your lashes as Armitage withdrew his wallet and pulled out the correct sum of money. Already you were working through which flavors he might enjoy and which he would be more likely to dislike. Given his response regarding hot chocolate, you doubted that anything _too_ sweet would win him over.

“Ah. Put in another shot of espresso,” he called as you worked on making the drink. You responded with a verbal _will do_ while committing to the task. Perhaps you would ask him what his job was. Not just yet. The conversation had gone well, and you did not wish to spoil this meeting by coming across as too nosey. You were the barista, he was the customer. He was not paying attention to you, you told yourself, because of any interest of _that_ sort. No matter how much you wished it would be so. You would not ruin what you had going. It would have to be enough. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, eyes drawn to the watch he wore when he checked it again. With a nod of farewell, Armitage took the coffee--black with three shots of espresso--and exited First Rogue.

The snow that had fallen the previous day remained upon the ground, and more would descend by late afternoon, early evening at the latest. You crossed your arms in front of yourself, leaning onto them as you set them atop the counter. Armitage sipped his coffee while walking, his feet carrying him away from the coffee shop. As for the other morning regulars, the first of them entered the shop. You smiled and gave a light, cheerful greeting. With snow as your inspiration and plenty of orders to take with the day just getting started, you well knew that by the next morning you would have the perfect flavor of coffee to serve Armitage. You could not wait to learn his reactions to more, to hear him talk to you beyond simply giving his coffee order.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments. I'm so happy that you're enjoying this fic! I hope to have it completed by the middle of the month. Just two more chapters, so that should be doable.

** Rogue Order **

_{For terry012227}_

_Chapter Two_

Taking multiple orders and enjoying the sight of freshly fallen snow the previous day had indeed aided you in selecting which flavor of coffee you would serve Armitage when he arrived in the morning. The discussion of hot chocolate had not faded into the background as expected. Instead it had inserted itself repeatedly, encouraging you towards a semi-sweet flavor. You readied the ingredients before Armitage was set to arrive meanwhile your co-worker, Remi, took care of other matters in First Rogue.

You opted to grab a sugar substitute to help prevent a sugar rush then subsequent crash while he worked; from there you ground up a semi-sweet dark chocolate into a finer composition along with some ginger and cinnamon. The cardamom and cloves were pre-ground, and the salt and white pepper were also easy to secure. Mixing the ingredients together did not take very long. You put them all into an airtight container, shook it, and then set aside the container until Armitage was visible through the large window.

Armitage Hux was running behind schedule by four minutes when he entered the coffee shop. It was time that he hoped to make up during the drive into the city. Thus he did not spent much time speaking with you as he otherwise might have. He walked up to the counter and opened his mouth to state _the usual_ when you spoke first instead, informing him that you had already selected the flavor, if he did not mind. Armitage closed his mouth, pausing. He had forgotten that this had been prearranged the previous day. Clearing his throat, he nodded and asked the price of the drink. You stated the amount that he paid for his usual. Aware that it would be rude to press the issue--and not having the time to do so--he withdrew his wallet from his pocket, took out the cash, and handed the bills to you.

His eyes tracked your every move as you turned your back, changing places with your coworker in order to prepare his drink. Armitage considered the fine powder that had been premixed. This you measured out into roughly three tablespoons that you deposited into his cup before pouring in some of the shop’s freshly brewed coffee. You poured in a minimal amount of dairy-free creamer, mixed the drink again, put on the lid, and brought the cup over to him. “The flavor?” he asked whilst sliding one foot backwards in retreat.

“Chocolate chai. It shouldn’t be too sweet,” you responded, earning a nod of acknowledgment from Armitage. You found yourself holding your breath, wondering if he planned on tasting the coffee in front of you. He was late, which you knew. It was little surprise when he offered a small wave with two fingers then headed for the door. Your mood threatened to devolve into a semi-melancholy state, however he called over his shoulder that he would tell you his opinion the next morning. That set your heart fluttering like he often did merely by walking into First Rogue. You rocked forward on your feet, drawing up on your tiptoes then rolled back into a proper standing position.

Remi was not oblivious to these actions, and she shot you a knowing look when the door to the coffee shop closed behind Armitage’s retreating form. Unlike another of the baristas that you worked with, Remi was not one to push boundaries or make public the fact that you were obviously smitten with a patron of First Rogue. You liked that about her, appreciated it more in that moment than you ever had before. Once the shop emptied, the pair of you could gush about things, could giggle like school girls or whatever might come to pass. In the meanwhile, she was satisfied to offer that look then return to her work as you did the same, a smile spreading widely across your face.

On the other side of town, at the turnoff to exit and head for the city, Armitage glanced at the chocolate chai coffee with interest. He had not yet taken a sip despite finding that, in the closed quarters of his vehicle, he quite enjoyed its scent. Armitage considered the fact that he should try at least a sip before the beverage chilled. He waited until he approached the next red light then cradled his hand around the cup, tugging it upwards and out of the holder towards his mouth. Its scent was more appealing as he brought it closer. Saliva gathered, forced him to swallow before he took that first drink.

The warm liquid pooled over his tongue, toying with his taste buds. There were layers of flavor. Hints of sweetness coupled with spice along with the more familiar taste of First Rogue’s coffee blend. The chocolate portion, which he had initially believed would be sickeningly sweet, had a light bitterness to it that he found to be palatable. Armitage took a second sip within seconds of the first then a third. He replaced the drink into the holder due to the light changing from red to green. Though he had recovered only two of the four minutes thus far of time, he decided that he would make the most of the day. This drink in particular soothed his mood. He would have to remember that. Perhaps keep a series of notes for the various flavors that you experimentally handed to him—if, of course, you were interested in continuing this trend.

Armitage glanced again at the clock on his car’s dashboard. It struck him that you had been attentive to his interests alongside his usual order. He, on the other hand, knew your name and profession. Your schedule, although that fell under _profession_ in his opinion. He did not know much else about you, which he had never much given thought to. When you had questioned him regarding hot chocolate, he had failed to inquire about the same. This was the first time he felt that perhaps he had been rude to you. Were his manners always so lax when he was not at work?

He could recall your face, the general shape of it and the color of your hair, however if he tried to place color to your irises, he was left second-guessing himself. This was _not_ a desirable position. Reliance upon a faulty memory could doom a business deal; Armitage prided himself on memorizing each detail of a transaction along with the faces, names, and basic information of those involved. He did admittedly take for granted such items when it came to his personal life—was that what you were, a part of his personal life? It was more intimate in nature than simply to say that you worked at a coffee shop that he frequented. You were no colleague of his, yet before this moment he had not considered you as an individual that would potentially reach the role of casual acquaintance. To refer to you as a _friend_ or _companion_ would be premature and far too intimate given the limited amount of information he held.

This would be remedied the following morning, during which time he could deliver his impression of the chocolate chai coffee. Depending on how much work he finished over the day and what arrangements he completed in the evening once he was home, Armitage would decide if he would return to his regular drink or not for a stretch of days. His usual order assisted in preventing headaches, of which he frequently suffered due to stress that was work related though equal parts because of Brendol’s interference with his life. He grabbed hold of the coffee at the thought, drank a more generous amount than previous, and noisily swallowed the liquid, not enjoying it quite as much as mere moments ago. He ran his tongue across his lips then sucked on his tongue as though that would resummon the flavor that had barely had time to caress his taste buds.

* * *

When midafternoon rolled around and your shift came to an end, you did not leave First Rogue as you might otherwise have. Instead you grabbed one of the smaller tablets of paper that was available to you along with a pen then moved to a table near the window. The light was not too glaring despite the way it reflected off gathered snow. Judging from how Armitage had requested his usual the previous day, you were aware that there would likely be mornings where this would be repeated. In the meanwhile, composing a list of the coffees you wished to present to him—for as long as he would allow—would offer you things to look forward to. You could have more flavors prepared or else ensure that you had all ingredients. This way you could select one of the flavors based on Armitage’s disposition when he walked into First Rogue.

Should he state that he enjoyed the chocolate chai coffee, you would have to introduce him to a cafe mocha. You would make more fresh chocolate powder and make whipped cream. Due to this, it would have to wait until you knew his opinion—and you would have to ensure that he was interested in having more flavors ahead of time. Not that whipped cream would not be used if he decided that he was not.

If he was inclined to sample a more sweet drink, you were excited to serve him a caramel macchiato. It was a more basic flavor, true, however that simply made it more readily available on days when you were not forewarned what mood he would be in. Vanilla syrup—sugar free and non—as well as caramel sauce were in large supply in First Rogue. As was gingerbread coffee, you reminded yourself. With a hum, you scrawled that onto your list.

Ristretto would be closer to his usual drink. You flipped the sheet of paper over to start a page of more ‘basic’ drinks that you could give him when he did not want to stray too far from his norm. Espresso Romano if you could confirm that he enjoyed the taste of lemon.

“I wonder if he would ever want any food.” You tapped the end of the pen against your mouth while furrowing your brow in thought. Where you had suggested food pairings to other customers, you had never broached the subject with Armitage. Would he be put off by the idea?

As you considered this, you found yourself curious as to what topics in general would be open for conversation. This man may not spare you a second glance in a romantic view, however he was clearly comfortable for casual conversations. Though perhaps that was generous? You had spoken more than he had on each of the occasions. That might be his personality, you reminded yourself, not to be easily dissuaded. You would begin with something more light, albeit branching away from First Rogue related content.

“Not work either.” This you stated under your breath. There were no customers that would eavesdrop. The only patron inside First Rogue was one of the regulars, an older woman who dropped by to have time for herself before she was set to pick up her grandchildren from school. You rested your elbows on the table, cupped your chin, and glanced at the woman. With this you were reminded just how simple it was to socialize. Armitage Hux made your heart race in your chest, however you spoke to him regarding his coffee order. Just the same as you spoke to this woman, whom you had also conversed with about her family and hobbies. She enjoyed sewing, reading books, and had three drama series that she loyally kept up with.

Armitage kept to a tight schedule, which meant that he might, too, watch a regular program. The news perhaps. It was a good starting point. You would watch the nightly news and select a topic to speak with him about when he arrived at the coffee shop the next day.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Brendol had indeed soured Armitage’s mood by the day’s end. He lowered himself onto the couch in his home. The television droned on, some news report that he was hardly paying attention to. Instead he worked to think of something else—some _one_ else—to assist in improving his demeanor. Within his mind he began to map out the contours of your face. Each angle carefully studied until his crude rendition was as close an approximation as he could make it. The next morning he would take an extra moment to improve the accuracy of future recollections.

Armitage conjured up the flavor of the chocolate chai coffee, the slight spice that had rolled over his tongue. In the past he had thought little of you beyond your occupation. With the peppermint coffee and the discussion of hot chocolate, his view had shifted to a certain _sweetness_. Now there was spice, which caused him pause. Did that spice translate into your personality?

Throbbing in his head jerked Armitage back into reality. The newscast reported the weather for the week. The morning would see roughly an inch worth of snow. It was the weekend that would be more quarrelsome with temperatures rising a fraction only to plummet, the likelihood of ice high. His original plan for the weekend had been to go into the office for additional progress on a new project that he would be undertaking the following month. This had been one of the issues that Brendol had harassed him over—not that he worked more than necessary, however that he should have done _more_ and been _more_ innovative in his career. Nothing ever pleased the man, not truly.

With the weather report, it was clear that his plans would have to be altered. Armitage started to compose a list of what materials he would be required to bring to his home over the next two days. Only when Millicent, a small tabby cat two years of age, slunk out from the covered bed in the corner for attention was he properly drawn out of thoughts from work, not visiting them again until the next day.

In the morning, Armitage was more preoccupied with his visit to First Rogue after readying for work to think of business or Brendol. He patted Millicent on the head on his way out the front door, locked up, and began to rehearse what he might say if you should ask him why he stared at your eyes; he _would_ note their color this time. Tiny flakes of snow descended from the sky at random intervals. They wet his eyelashes so that he was forced to swipe a hand along his face when he entered the coffee shop. As he lowered his arm back to his side, he scanned the counter. One of the other baristas was taking an order from the man in front of him.

He wondered if you had scheduled to take a day off; he was relatively certain he knew your schedule—it struck Armitage that this might be strange, however he ignored the notion.

Entering First Rogue behind a familiar redhead, you felt your smile growing despite being four minutes late for your shift. You had sent Remi a fast text, and she was covering for you. The owner would not mind much; there were more times that you remained in the store extra than you arriving late or leaving early. This was, for you, a nice thing about the town. Its community was one you had grown fond of over the years; a portion was transient due to the local and city schools, while the more steady populace were supportive of one another in good times and bad. Due to this, you were already in a good mood. Seeing that he had stalled, observing his head turn in search of someone—in search of _you_ —was pleasantly surprising.

“Good morning,” you chimed, earning the privilege of watching Armitage jump in startlement. He twisted around, drawing backwards a step and tightening the muscles in his face in an obvious attempt to conceal his emotions. Not for the first time, you wondered about his personal life and what had led him to be like this. Then paused, realizing that he was doing something he had not in all the time you had been in contact with him. Armitage Hux was staring into your eyes. Heat seeped into your cheeks, spread throughout your body. “Are you in the mood for a new flavor?”

“Hmm.” Though he hummed out that sound, feigning consideration, there was a sense that he had already made up his mind on the matter before he had walked into the shop. “For today and tomorrow, yes.”

You nodded then walked around him. Armitage turned to follow you with his gaze, walking forward as the other male patron of the establishment grabbed his drink and headed for the door. Remi shifted back to the register to assist Armitage in paying for the coffee--she knew to ring him up for his regular beverage, as you covered any difference with the tip he so often left otherwise would pay it on your own—which allowed you to walk towards the ingredients that you had readied. Two days in a row, you mused, which meant that you wanted to leave a good impression so as to not dissuade him from continuing this pattern.

“Did you see—” you began in unison with him saying: “The weather this...weekend...” You had stopped abruptly, whereas he trailed off. You looked over your shoulder at him, nodding encouragingly so that he would resume where he had left off. “Does it prevent many of your regulars from coming into the shop?”

“Err, I suppose it depends on how bad it gets.” Your hands were in constant motion, readying and preparing all that you needed to put his drink together. “I live close enough that I can come into work even if it’s for a shorter shift. We’ll close only if it’s too hazardous, which I don’t think will be the case here. How about you? Do you have work?”

Vertigo was not an immediate threat, although you did notice that you felt slightly lightheaded over the fact that Armitage had been the one to strike up a conversation, even if it did have to do with First Rogue. It was the sort of topic _you_ had been intending to bring up. The pair of you were on the same page with that, and you each, as far as you could tell, enjoyed conversing with the other. Remi, meanwhile, had busied herself with tending to two other customers that had entered the shop; one was another regular and the other a new face.

Armitage slipped one foot in front of the other, keeping pace with you as you darted about behind the counter while carrying out the final steps of making the beverage, whatever flavor it happened to be. Coming from others, he might not have welcomed the question or else been indifferent to it. From you, on the other hand, he found that he was pleased you had asked. “In a way. I am not on the schedule, however I do plan to bring a few items home with me. I may spend the morning here, if that is alright.” He gestured towards the corner by the window and hoped that you noticed he was indicating two tables rather than one. They were smaller, square, and allowed only for two chairs each.

You looked in that direction whilst walking towards him with the coffee, which you handed to him. “That shouldn’t be a problem at all.” It suddenly struck Armitage that he had not checked his watch the entire time since your arrival. He did not know if he was running late or not, and was not stressed about the matter—perhaps that would sink in later, after he moved into his car. For the meanwhile, he inquired as to what flavor you had given him today. “You should try it and guess.”

A snort escaped him, and Armitage felt his mouth shifting into a smile that he more often than not concealed from the world. Genuine. Amused. He lifted the coffee to his mouth to hide the expression, felt his face heating a little and knew that it was covered in a slight rosy flush. Your cheekiness had been unexpected. There was such a contrast with your attitude compared with Brendol’s. Where Brendol made Armitage want to hide away, you were a breath of fresh air. Brendol was vexing. You were…

Armitage took a sip as you had suggested, his eyes locking onto yours. You did not glance away; in that moment, he realized that you had for so long. You had been more shy with him. Not timid, however less bold. He had offered no reason for you to be kind to him, yet there it was. Your eyes wide and your lips parted. Your breathing was not as level as it had been before he had smiled. Your chest rose and fell, your breasts--Good lord, he nearly choked on the hot coffee.

“Gingerbread,” he said, his voice low, his mouth still warm from the drink.

You were trying to recover from the shock of seeing his smile, which had been far better than you had imagined it would be. His reaction to the coffee flavor was not negative. Nothing was ruining the moment. Except when he stated that he had to get going to work and would see you in the morning. There was little to say to that. Not that you trusted yourself to speak. Surely your voice would crack. You gave a wave of your hand, staring after him and not caring that Remi and even some of the customers were watching you.

For Armitage Hux, the incident remained with him for the entire day. He found himself distracted on more than one occasion. The taste of gingerbread coffee--not his favorite of the ones he had been given—and the sight of you staring. The image of your breasts. The end of the work day did not arrive fast enough. He greeted Millicent, set down the items he had brought home in preparation for the weekend, and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, he closed the door to prevent his cat from interrupting.

His hand went to the front of his pants. Armitage closed his eyes, conjuring your face in his mind’s eye. Now he knew it better. The various angles, the different expressions. The way your pupils had dilated as you watched him smile. He thought again of your breasts. His cock throbbed, hardening and making his breath catch. He worked open his pants, slipping one hand inside and withdrawing his erection. He stroked himself, twisting his wrist as he moved at a languid pace.

What did _you_ taste like? The question was posed as he jerked his cock, as he thought again of your smile, of your desire to please him and offer him new flavors of coffee. He wanted to spread your legs open and fuck you. To watch you squirm as he worked his fingers into you, opening your wet cunt so that he _could_ fuck you.

Armitage’s breathing grew even louder. He growled, the sound rumbling through him. He moved his hand even faster, flicking his wrist, thrusting his hips forward and fucking his hand though he wished it was you. The image in his mind changed in scenery. You on his bed instead of the coffee shop—though, he had to admit, bending you over the counter and risking being seen through that large window was suddenly an exhilarating prospect. Yet on his bed, screaming his name as he made you cum.

“Fuck!” His entire body trembled. Armitage let his head fall back, felt it hitting the door, which gave a light _thunk_ at the impact. He teased his slit, toyed with the sensitive flesh at the head of his cock with the pads of his fingers, and then resumed fucking his hand in earnest. The sounds of him masturbating echoed in the bathroom. Yet what he heard was the moans—your moans—in his head. What did they sound like?

_You should try it._

Your voice, a teasing lilt. “Fuck,” he growled again, shuddering as he came, his cum spilling over his hand. He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection in the mirror. At the flush in his cheeks, which was darker than what he had worn as a result of your reaction to his smile.

He wanted to see that reaction once more. Wanted to take you out of First Rogue so that his fantasies could include other locations more naturally. Or perhaps to alter them from fantasy into reality. It was not merely sex that he craved from you either. In truth, you were the highlight of his day the majority of the time. He looked forward to seeing you each morning. Armitage thought of sharing coffee with you after the pair of you fucked. Hot chocolate was another option—that would entice you, would bring a smile to _your_ lips, wouldn’t it?

Running a hand along the length of his face, Armitage decided that, come the weekend, he would pursue this, would pursue _you_ in earnest. The poor weather was proving to be a sort of blessing in disguise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, and thank you for waiting! The next (final!) chapter should be out by Sunday.

** Rogue Order **

_{For terry012227}_

_Chapter Three_

You toyed with the edge of the book that you had brought with you for the expected lull after the initial morning rush--one that had been shorter lived than on days when ice was not slick along the pavement. Armitage Hux was within the walls of First Rogue as well. While you wanted to speak with him, to spend time with him at all, you were allowing him some room to get work done. He had brought in quite the assortment of folders along with a laptop computer. His fingers flew along the keys with minimal breaks for the period of nearly five minutes. You stared, impressed with his typing speed.

Due to his intentions to remain inside the establishment, the coffee that you had served him was in a smaller cup, one of the porcelain mugs to be exact. He had requested that he first be given his regular order to assist in enhancing his concentration. Later he would indulge in one of the _mystery_ flavors that you had written down.

There had not been many words exchanged between the pair of you just yet. You glanced at Armitage once more for any indication that he was ready for a break. His fingers paused in their movements, the tapping of the keyboard ending almost abruptly. He reached for the coffee, pulling it upwards and taking the sip, and then replaced the mug and resumed his work. His posture was one that doctors would be proud of. He supported his spine where necessary, did not slouch. Yet he was not _too_ rigid in a manner that may have caused muscle cramps.

You touched the edge of your book again, this time drawing it up into your hands and opening to where you had last left off. Your eyes began to roam along the words. At first you did not soak in what was written; upon your second pass, however, you were drawn into the world painted by the author until the sound of a throat being cleared startled you back into reality. You were unsure just how much time had passed. Time enough for Armitage to rise from his seat and come over.

Though he did not say so aloud, Armitage found it to be rather endearing that you were able to become absorbed in a book. The expression of contentment that it had encouraged to form on your face had him wondering more about the novel in question. Not that he would have time to read it--not for at least another month; his mind would wander back to work if he attempted to sit down and read. He considered asking if you would be able to sit with him while he worked then changed his mind. That might be awkward for the both of you, in part because it might paint him as being _needy_ or _desperate_ for your attention, and in part because you might not be interested in him beyond casual conversation. He settled instead on another approach, which could potentially span into an avenue that allowed him to invite you to join him.

“Is there anything _light_ on the menu that you would suggest?” He made a gesture with his hand. “I save lunch for being my heavier meal; it makes it easier when business lunches run longer to have more food. Otherwise the food can be saved as leftovers for the evening.” Armitage found himself enjoying the manner in which you were watching him, your eyes darting between his moving hand and his face as you listened.

“We have several, yes,” you said, furrowing your brow and resisting the urge to look directly at either the menu or one of the pastry displays. There were small protein packs as well that were available. Allowing just shy of a minute to elapse, you mentally toyed with the options that you could present to him before you rattled them off beginning with two of the protein choices and ending with three pastries that would not be too filling. Between those there were fruits, although you had to dart away to the minifridge to ensure that they were in stock whereupon you noticed that yogurt could be included on the list as well.

When Armitage stated that he would enjoy a pastry, you asked if he wanted it warmed. Here he did not answer right away, opting to internally debate, and then he nodded and walked back in the direction of his table after handing you the correct amount of change for the food. The moment of silence that had transpired after he had inquired about food caused him to realize that his approach might have been better. It was not as though he was oblivious to the pastries that the coffee shop served. As for the other items, he had never paid them much heed. You had not made a single comment to embarrass him or point out the fact that the pastries were on display; he liked that about you--it was a contrast to Brendol’s tendencies to pick at any perceived flaws, and the individuals that Brendol dated were of a similar nature. He did not have to be on his guard when with you.

As he sat down in the chair, Armitage began to reorganize the files that he had brought with him. He created two piles, one composed of those he no longer needed for the time being and the second for what he planned to leaf through as he completed the tasks he had assigned to himself for the day. In this manner he was able to clear up sections of the table that would allow room for his food as well as you if you did decide to join him. He ran two fingers along the edge of his laptop, a twitch in his shoulder before he grew more rigid. The food would be heated in a matter of seconds, and you would soon be walking over. Armitage cocked his head enough to listen without, in his own opinion, being too obvious.

Your footsteps were soft, though remained audible especially as you drew nearer. He caught a glimpse of you in his peripheral mere moments before you placed the plate upon the table a little to his right. After setting down the plate, you did not move away but instead shifted towards another chair and sat down. There were no other customers in First Rogue, and he hoped to take advantage of this before things changed. Armitage reached to tug a small piece off the pastry; this, for him, was a small act of rebellion--Brendol would have chastised him for not using a fork, for dirtying his hands.

“Do you have a deadline on the project you’ve been working on?” you asked, keeping your gaze trained on him though you nodded in the direction of his laptop. You did not want to appear too nosey. This was a readily available topic to bring up in order to open up a further line of dialogue.

Armitage had drawn a piece of the pastry into his mouth, keeping him from answering your question immediately. “I have quite a bit of time before the deadline arrives.” The hint of a smile flashed on his features, a kind of muscle twitch that you did not often see from him. “Doing groundwork now will save me hassle later.”

“I have a few home projects like that,” you commented after a beat, earning a slow blink and a tilt of the head from him. You felt yourself smiling, relaxing. He was interested in what you had to say beyond First Rogue, which was everything that you had hoped for. Or, if not everything, a very good start. “Some of it has to do with organizing and decluttering.” You did not want to potentially bore him with other projects that were ongoing since you were ignorant of what all of his interests were.

“I still have a box to unpack,” he murmured. You furrowed your brow while considering his words, recalling that he was newer in town. Given his personality, you had always assumed that he was the type to unpack and organize all his belongings the moment he was settled in a new place. It was, in a way, refreshing to learn that you had been wrong.

Another customer entering First Rogue drew you out of the chair and back towards the counter. More patrons trickled in at that point, which you had expected yet found yourself disappointed--distracted may have been a more appropriate term--in ways that you never had before. Then again, Armitage had not previously remained within the walls of First Rogue until that day. You peeked at him multiple times while ringing up a larger order. The woman delivering it was a regular who came in twice a month due to organized events for her work; she treated her coworkers to some coffee and pastries while they prepared on the days before. 

Preparing the order busied you enough that you were able to focus on work rather than glance again at Armitage. You rolled through another four orders before looking his way. At that point he was three-quarters the way through his pastry. Most others you knew would have finished it, which proved to you that he was taking his time--but was that because he was waiting for you, or were you flattering yourself? You shook your head, worked to maintain your smile, and handed over the final order that you had taken to the customer, who walked over to one of the other tables and sat down. That eliminated some of the privacy that had previously existed, you thought, chagrined.

Armitage curled three fingers around the edges of the final pastry portion, breaking some of its flakes off the larger piece. In unison with consuming the food, he had worked more on the project and a side outline for other items to later be completed before the deadline arrived. The weather outdoors appeared to be worsening in terms of temperature. Passersby in the street hugged their coats more tightly around themselves, and many that eyed First Rogue darted instead towards cars to drive away. He very much doubted that several stores he knew of in town would be open for much longer.

The patron that had walked to a different table drew his gaze as you headed in his direction again. You moved into the same seat as before, and this time Armitage readjusted himself in his chair so that he was better facing you. “Do you have all essentials?” He would need to drop by the store for one or two items in case the weather continued on this path for the next few days. When you replied that you were already prepared, he spoke again, this time more confident. “When the weather is more agreeable, may I take you to lunch?”

You felt your heart hiccup in your chest, your lips parting in surprise. Doubt crept into your veins; you could not have heard him correctly, could you have? “Come again?” you asked, voice softer than you would have preferred. Armitage repeated his request.

Lunch was, you reminded yourself, not quite as intimate as dinner. The setting would be more casual, relaxed. If he was pulling your leg, it would be easier to get out of that situation--truthfully, you were beginning to worry that this, your interactions with him, were to cure his boredom. Doubt was a cruel thing indeed.

“Yes, I would like that.” What offered more hope that this was not some joke was that Armitage gave you his phone first. As you reciprocated, you felt the muscles in your shoulders relaxing. The pair of you agreed to postpone settling on a time or date until after the night’s weather forecast. When you did meet for the lunch date, it would be just that-- _meeting_. You did not want to ask him to pick you up though he did offer to drive the two of you. It was nicer to have a quick getaway if things became miserable.

Such thoughts nearly made you laugh as you sat across from Armitage midway through the following week. He had allowed you to choose the venue, which you had been only too happy to suggest one of your favorite local restaurants. Falling into a conversation with him there was easy as it had been in First Rogue. You settled for one of your preferred meals at the restaurant while Armitage looked through the menu before making his decision. With the orders sent in, the two of you were left alone, and it was Armitage who first began to speak. Not about coffee or the weather either. That was, perhaps, why it was not difficult to reply.

“You don’t play _any_ board games?” you repeated, leaning back a little as though the new perspective would change anything. Armitage shook his head whilst offering a flat _no_ that was not rude, however it indicated this was not the first time his revelation had surprised the other party. “Do you just not enjoy games, or…?”

Armitage refrained from biting the insides of his cheeks as he mulled over your inquiry. The question had been posed by others in his past, and on those occasions he had switched to a new subject. With you, he did not fear judgment. There was a sense of safety that prompted him to shift nearer. He rested his forearms on the table--doing so would have earned him much scrutiny from the others in his life--and swallowed before beginning to speak. “Games were not common in my childhood. There are several that are quite simple to learn, however I am at a disadvantage due to being less familiar with them.”

“Oh,” you said. You had assumed a similar posture to his, the distance closing though the two of you were separated by the table. His eyes traced the contours of your face, mapping how the muscles in your countenance shifted with each new expression. “If you wanted to, sometime we could find a game neither of us have played. They’re always coming out with new ones anyway. Neither of us would have the advantage that way.”

Such an offer implied that the pair of you would likely be at a residence instead of in a restaurant or some other public venue while you played. There would be no need for him to become self-conscious. No eyes on the two of you. It would not matter if he struggled; he doubted you would judge him poorly, as you hadn’t done so yet. Armitage replied with his acceptance as the waiter started to walk over with the food that had been ordered. Even while eating, the conversation did not die away. You alternated speaking, sharing information with the other, learning about interests, both those that you shared and several that differed. When the meal ended, neither of you was quick to leave.

Armitage walked you to your car, moving in for a kiss when your body leaned into his. Your lips were soft, mouth pliant. The two of you broke away only when there was a need for air. “We should do this again sometime.” He felt ridiculous for phrasing things that way, yet could not think of anything else to say. He could think only of your mouth on his, of how your body had felt pressed against his own. How much he wanted you. How comfortable he felt with you.

“Definitely,” you said, elation coursing through your entire being.

The dates that followed were never a disappointment, and their venue transformed from casual to more intimate settings. When he asked to take you to a place in the city the first time, you had hesitated--you did enjoy some of the restaurants and shopped in its stores; it was the fact that the city sounded, to you, to be _his_ territory that you did not immediately respond. Armitage was attentive to your mood, and proposed an alternative location, one within town. His willingness to accommodate you in this way eased your mind, and so the two of you had gone into the city. On one of the warmer days--the air remained frosty, only with less of a nip to it and one that was tempered by a warm beverage--the pair of you had gone for a stroll in one of the city’s parks. That particular date had been one of your favorites. Armitage had been more at ease, the wall that hid his emotions shifting aside multiple times as he smiled your way.

That date had been two weeks previous, and the two of you had agreed on going to his place after enjoying a movie together. You had a game that you would try out, which you handed over to him once he had opened the door for you to enter. You walked into his place first and allowed yourself a chance to look around. You were more than a little curious how he had his place decorated; you knew already that he did not have family photos hanging, as he was not close with his parents. His friends were limited in number, and the majority of them had not been to his house since he had moved into town. Another fact that you knew was that Armitage had a cat named Millicent, who eyed you from behind a scratching post that was set up for her.

You squatted down, encouraging her to come closer while Armitage set the game on the table. She did not budge, to which you took no insult. You were more distracted by the man you were with. Standing, you found yourself in his arms, which shifted around you. The first kiss had you leaning into him. The second encouraged you to move backwards in the direction of the couch that you had seen.

His hot mouth sealed over the flesh of your neck, breath and tongue wetting the area. You felt your body responding, your abdominal muscles tightening as you raised your hands to his hair. The locks fell out of place under your touch. They were softer now than on days that he had work meetings, where he often gelled back his hair to keep it out of his face. A low groan escaped Armitage as your fingers danced along his scalp and made their way to his ears, which you knew were one of his more sensitive areas. You grinned, moaning into the kiss that he placed on your lips. That devilish tongue darted out again, this time to toy with yours. You were happy to oblige, working your tongue against his, tasting the hint of mint that lingered.

“You really like that taste,” you said between kisses, your hands moving even lower, now on his collarbone, his chest.

Armitage shifted himself and felt the tip of his nose skim along yours. The way your mouth worked around the word _taste_ had him biting back what he truly wanted to suggest. He might, if given more prompting. He did not want you to be under the impression that he had invited you to his apartment with the sole intention of having sex. There was more build up to be had, more verbal foreplay. Armitage allowed himself to smirk at the thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. You responded to his expression by biting your bottom lip and letting your gaze roam along his face. You pressed your hips into his. That was encouragement enough; he placed his hands on your ass, squeezing, kneading the muscles and pulling you in closer, grinding against you.

“I do like it,” he said, lifting his eyebrows and continuing to smirk. He held his breath for a moment as you touched both of your hands to his chest, running them up and down along his shirt, feeling him through the material. Blood was pooling throughout his body, a faint blush settling on his face and running lower.

You made a trail with your hands from his chest up to his face, and the pair of you moved in unison so that your mouths met again, hungry, wanting. His tongue explored your mouth, caressing the contours and making you clench. Armitage began to map out your body with hands as well, and you did not stop him, instead pushing more into his touches, grinding against him until he moved you onto the couch, nearly pinning your body with his. He danced his fingers down further and further, parting your thighs with one hand and tracing your slit with two fingers of the other. You moaned again as he moved between your legs, grinding against you, his cock, though still clothed, hard and sliding _so close_ to where you needed and wanted him. You undulated underneath him, hands tugging at his shirt, drawing him in as much as you were able.

He rolled his hips, thrusting against your body and building friction that you increased with your own movements. Jolts of pleasure shot through you, heat welling into the lower part of your belly. Armitage’s hands were on your breasts then as he continued to explore. Kneading them, pressing them towards one another and bouncing your breasts against his palms. He tugged you, grinding his pelvis into yours, dropping his hand lower so that his fingers could toy with your clit through your clothing.

“Don’t stop,” you said, grabbing at his wrist long enough to maneuver his hand into a new angle. You began to undo the front of your clothes until Armitage realized what you were doing. With a grunt, he assisted you in ridding your body of that first layer. His fingers then hooked into your panties, drawing them aside when once more you nodded. You curled your toes, eyes glued on his mouth.

Armitage found that he did not require any further encouragement; he knew what you wanted, that it was the same thing he wanted in that moment. He ran his tongue along his lips in anticipation. He kept his fingers hooked into the panties so that they did not slip back into place as he repositioned himself. His other hand pushed at your inner thigh, his mouth moving nearer until his nose brushed along your clit. Glancing up, Armitage met your face and noticed how wide your eyes were, how your chest rose and fell heavily just as it had that day in First Rogue when he had realized how much he wanted you. His cock throbbed.

He teased your inner lips with his tongue, tasting you, holding in a swear of desire as your tang coated his tongue. You shivered under him, your body trembling. Armitage grazed his teeth along your flesh. Your quivering grew in intensity, a whimper erupting. That whimper turned into a much louder sound, a moan, as he wormed his tongue into you, sliding a finger closer as well. Feeling you begin to move in for more contact, he withdrew.

“Please,” you groaned, the heat spread throughout your entire body. He obliged almost immediately, almost as though you need not have begged him at all. You swallowed thickly around the saliva that had gathered in your mouth as your eyelashes fluttered. His tongue was shifting inside of you, this time more deeply. It curled, toyed with you. He noisily slurped, the wet sounds making you more slick. “Fuck!”

You reached down and tangled the fingers of one hand into his hair, rocked against his mouth. Armitage nudged your clit with his nose, swirled his tongue again then flattened it. He pressed his fingers to the side of your outer lips, tracing ghost-like patterns that journeyed to your cunt, where he moved them into you along with his tongue. Then he paused again, and you just _knew_ it was intentional. When you repeated the previous plea of _please_ , Armitage resumed. His fingers began to scissor you open, his tongue wriggling between them, darting in and out of you.

The sounds of you whining urged him on. Armitage was aware of the loud, wet sounds that escaped him with every lick, every nip that he delivered. He knew, too, when he found your g-spot--the breathless gasp, the twitch of your thigh muscles, the way you clenched around his fingers--and he stroked you repeatedly. He lapped at you, focusing on your clit as your slick coated his fingers, dripping down along his hand until he licked at the trail and drew it into his mouth. Your body was thrumming, he could feel it. Knew you were enraptured by the intensity of your orgasm, which you rode out, fucking yourself on his fingers, which he never stopped moving. Your cunt clenching, pulsing around his fingers. He slurped at your cum, drawing more and more of it into his mouth until your movements slowed.

You shifted, feeling simultaneously spent and enlivened. Armitage moved upwards as well, which made it easier for you to kiss him. You felt his hands wandering your body until he was squeezing your breast. Meanwhile you pawed at the front of his pants, feeling his cock twitch. “I think the game can wait until later,” you purred against him. Armitage nodded, his hungry mouth claiming yours again.


	4. Chapter 4

** Rogue Order **

_{For terry012227}_

_Chapter Four_

“Do you want to move to the bedroom?” Armitage asked as you slid your hand upwards, the heel of your hand against the bulge in his pants. You shook your head in the negative while murmuring that you were content where you were--it was the truth, though you would not reject a future offer. Armitage sighed, tilting his head until he was able to bury his face into the crook of your neck. His tongue dipped out, wetting the area just as you undid the belt he wore and started on the zipper, dragging it down with exaggerated slowness. Armitage growled low in his throat then hissed out a swear that moved against your flesh in the form of hot breath.

You slipped down onto the ground, on your knees in front of him, between his legs. You hollowed your cheeks while sealing your lips around the first inch. Armitage slid a hand so that he cupped the back of your head. The light pressure of him urging you forward was one that you rewarded. You swallowed more of him, undulating your tongue and toying with the sensitive flesh that rested on the organ. Moaning, you let your eyes slide close and paused, feeling the weight of his cock resting on your tongue. Armitage released a soft sigh of contentment.

“That feels good.” You wondered if he was trying to fill the silence. A smile formed on your face, and you peeked up at him to find that he was looking at you. You began to pull back, his cock leaving your mouth with a pop. “Mm. Should I cum in your mouth, or--” You had started to stroke him with a hand again, twisting your wrist with each languid move.

“I mean…” You trailed off, chewing on your lip and not quite sure how forward you should be.

“I would like to fuck you,” he said, lips twitching in the corners so that he was giving you a wry grin. You hummed in delight and took him into your mouth again. This time you focused on the head, your tongue caressing just underneath it.

Armitage could feel more heat pooling through his body as you continued your ministrations. He watched you bob your head, felt the way your hand moved up and down in slow strokes to toy with what portion of him was not inside of your mouth. When you pulled away the second time, you crawled up his body and placed a kiss against his mouth.

He turned the two of you, placing his hands on your waist and moving so that you were pinned between the cushions of the couch and his body. As he did this, you swept your panties down the length of your legs and kicked them away. He tracked the path your hungry gaze took to explore his body; running along his chest to his abdomen to his cock then up to his face, where your eyes locked with his. You visibly held your breath as he positioned himself and began to enter you, the head of his cock stretching you open. Your cunt clenched around him, tugging. Armitage allowed himself a smirk when you pushed yourself downwards, impatient for him to be inside of you. He adjusted his hands onto your hips to still your movements. You whined at that, fluttering your eyelashes and offering a half-hearted glare.

He felt his own body heating in desire, and he better understood your impatience as your hands began to explore him anew. This time you traced your fingers along the back of his neck then to his ears--ghosting over the sensitive flesh--and finally caressing his scalp. Armitage felt his cock twitch, your wet cunt again tightening around him, and he pushed into you further, sinking inside of you inch by inch. “Fuck,” you swore. This time he could tell that you purposely clenched around his cock in unison with rocking your hips as best you could while still in his grasp. Armitage chuckled, braced himself by gripping the armrest of the couch with one hand, and thrust forward so that he was fully seated inside of you.

That thrust had nearly caught you by surprise; he had hit deep inside of you, in a way that you felt him throughout your entire being. You followed his gaze down to your stomach, catching sight of the bulge that undulated with every thrust. He _knew_ perfectly how to angle himself. Armitage petted the area, and you threw back your head at the sensation of feeling him within you and without. A loud moan spilled from your lips, which drew a purr-filled growl from him.

“Oh,” you sighed as he began to withdraw. He pulled backwards, making you feel the loss inch by inch until only the head of his cock remained inside of you. You swallowed thickly, knowing what was to come. _Wanting_ what was to come. “ _Fuck_ ,” the pair of you whispered together. Armitage pushed forward once more, his cock stroking your inner walls as it throbbed. He moved more quickly now, fucking you in earnest. Each thrust sent electric shocks throughout your body, hums of pleasure and heat that were amplifying the strength of the building dam that threatened to break at any given moment. The new angle caused him to brush along your clit with each shift of his hips. Every thrust brought you closer, the heat coursing through your body beginning to make you feel like the room around you was spinning, like you were floating.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Armitage purred. He ran his hand along your breasts, his thumb toying with its nipple, rolling it, flicking it. You toyed with your clit until he batted away your limb to take over; at that point you took up where he had left off, pinching your nipple so that the bud grew erect from the stimulation. “So beautiful.” His voice was deep with arousal. You could feel him inside of you, the way he, too, was growing warmer as he grew closer to orgasm.

“Mmm,” you moaned out, another swear slipping off your tongue mere seconds afterwards as Armitage told you, his voice low, that you were going to cum on his cock. His wet thrusts shook your body, and he stared down into your eyes when your eyelids again began to flutter. Your body thrummed around him, your cunt pulsing, tightening, gripping at him as you came. A few tears of pleasure spilled down your cheeks. Again Armitage noticed how beautiful you were. An inner beauty as well as an outer one. He groaned and growled through his own release. His body in constant motion as he fucked you through orgasm, his cum filling you.

Armitage kissed your brow, your nose, your lips. They were so soft, he noted. He would never tire of kissing you. His hands cupped either side of your face, and this time his kiss was more tender. He repeated the previous compliment of _beautiful_ then added _lovely_ and _enchanting_ , both of which had you smiling. You slid your arms around him nuzzling the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent. Armitage also moved his hands. He held onto you in a way that allowed him to maneuver your body and his into a more comfortable sitting position. You leaned against him, another hum leaving you as he tugged the blanket that had been folded over the back of the couch down onto you.

“Would you like some hot chocolate to relax with?” There was a quick pause before you nodded, and he assumed it was due to a reluctance to move. “I can prepare it.”

“We can do it together if you want. I know you’re capable,” you added the second portion after glancing at his face and finding that his brow had begun to furrow. Armitage shook his head while telling you that no insult had been taken, that he would appreciate your assistance since he had only prepared the hot chocolate one other time. This time, too, he had purchased both white and milk chocolate for a different combination. “I just need to find where my clothes went.”

His laughter was rich, one of your favorite sounds in all the world. As Armitage readjusted his own clothing, he aided you in your search. You shimmied back into your clothes then followed him into the kitchen, which you had previously given but a cursory look. Now you were able to examine it in full. He possessed many of the appliances that you yourself owned, although his were different brands in several cases. The cupboards that he opened revealed a small selection of snacks. When Armitage opened up the refrigerator you learned that it, too, held a minimal amount of food. It spoke of how much he worked, a fact that you already knew about him.

Armitage carried the ingredients over to one of the countertops, upon which he set the items and began to sort them. You joined in, taking over within seconds so that he was able to focus instead of securing the dishes and utensils that would be needed. Along with the chocolate that would be ground up, there was some ginger, sea salt, vanilla extract, and cinnamon. He had pulled almond milk out of the refrigerator after setting down the utensils. The two of you then fell into sync, working together to prepare the beverage. The recipe that he had selected to use was similar, though not identical, to one served in First Rogue.

There was a small, dull ache in your muscles from how you had bent on the couch during sex; it was a welcomed sensation that you knew would fade away rather quickly. The cocoa would help with that.

Pulling out two mugs from the cupboard, Armitage assisted you in serving the hot chocolate then carried the cups to the table upon which the game was waiting to be played. “Do you think you’ll be able to concentrate?” he asked, hoping that he did not come across as doubting you in any way. You brushed your fingers along the skin under your eye and toyed with the game, flipping over the box to read its synopsis. Instead of committing to a full game, you suggested that the two of you play a mock round. It was something that he had not considered. “Very well.”

He set your cup in front of you as you slipped into the chair and began to open the game. You pulled off the shrink wrap, which he grabbed and tossed into the trash can after placing his own mug on the table. By the time he returned to his seat, he found that Millicent had worked her way over to sit at your feet, albeit a few inches away. Armitage smiled to himself, pleased that she was warming up to you quickly. He had found her to be a good judge of character, especially after she displayed a strong dislike of Brendol shortly after he had brought her home.

“I’ll have to bring you here more often,” he said, earning your undivided attention. He nearly laughed at the speed at which you raised your head to look at him. “Unless you would rather I didn’t.”

“No, no, I like that!” you protested, toying with the edges of the box, wriggling it back and forth until the lid and bottom separated. You flipped the top of the box upside down then started to grab out the instructions, which were on top of the board. “I like that we’re at this point.” Armitage settled into his chair again. He grabbed at the board, opening it up--it had been bent in half--and then reached for the game tokens that were sealed in tiny plastic bags. “The cocoa is really good.”

“Just the cocoa?” he teased, watching closely as your face displayed how flustered his words made you. The expression was one that he knew he’d wish to see again.

You paused in your actions when you felt a sudden weight on your lap. Millicent poked her head up above the edge of the table, peering at you before bumping her head against your stomach. You stroked her, ensuring that your movements were slow so that you did not startle the tabby cat. With your other hand, you spread the directions open in front of you on the table so that Armitage could also see what was written along with the pictures. You began to read aloud, continuing to pet Millicent all the while. Being with Armitage after sex, in his place, was so _natural_ that it was weird for you to remember that this was the first time it had happened. That, more than anything, had been what had caught you off guard when he had spoken.

Millicent curled up in your lap just as Armitage started to set up the pieces while you reread the instructions. There were a few small details that you had not digested the first readthrough. The rest, you knew, the both of you would better be able to learn and recall the more you played. Armitage’s face had a small smile that did not disappear in the least no matter how many times you peeked up at him while he completed the task of setting up the game.

“You can come to my place, too,” you said when handing him the dice. Armitage paused, tilting his head to the side. His eyes darted about your face. You raised your eyebrows. “I know a lot can be learned from seeing someone’s place. I want this to be even.” When he still said nothing, you narrowed your eyes, teasing: “You know, I don’t _live_ at First Rogue.” 

He chuckled, nodding then shaking his head. “I am well aware.” His tone and volume were both soft, relaxed. “I have been wondering what your place looks like, especially after some of our conversations these past few weeks.”

You leaned in, bracing Millicent with one hand to prevent her from rolling off your lap, and Armitage mirrored your actions. “I really want to show you my bed.” His eyes seemed to glimmer. “And tonight you can show me yours.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice deeper, husky. It made the muscles in your abdomen tighten. You swallowed thickly at the memory of him inside of you, at the knowledge that you would be feeling him within you again before the night was up.

Both of you settled back, sipping on the hot chocolate that you had made together. It was Armitage’s turn first on the game. You watched him, the directions off to the side and available to look at again. It had been a rough week for Armitage, who had been forced to endure time with Brendol and the man’s wife. Seeing him smiling, relaxed, it meant everything to you. There were many ways that you were learning to help bring out that expression, that joy in him. Taking another sip of your hot chocolate, you had an idea of a coffee flavor that he had not yet tried, one that you were almost _certain_ would make him smile. If you spent the night, he had all the right ingredients in his home.

Not only would it be a great night with him; it was going to be a wonderful morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who read! I hope you enjoyed <3

**Author's Note:**

> This fic should only be about 4 chapters total, and that will cover everything. Just something small with fluff and sexiness with our favorite Sir General (who isn't a general here, but just as sexy).


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